Amanda won't appreciate it!
by Meretricious-221
Summary: I was used to accompanying Sherlock wherever he went, this was just the way we were, and the reason... I didn't give it much thought back then. Until one day.
1. Chapter 1

~~~ 1 ~~~~

Crap telly wasn't worth watching, but I couldn't bring myself to rise from the sofa and make it to my room. The day had been so long and the last hour of my shift turned out excruciating with the most tiresome patients one could imagine. Finally I gathered enough strength and was just about to get up when the front door opened.

'Sherlock, where have you been?' I asked sleepily. It was natural for him to turn up at all hours.

His posture appeared a tad shaky and he mumbled with some desperate resolution.

'No, I didn't drink!'

'Of course,' I agreed. That was going to be funny. 'So, where exactly did you not drink?'

He crossed to the armchair and his footing definitely lacked his usual grace. He almost caught his toe on the coffee table!

The smell of spirits was rather faint, must have been brandy and just a jigger or two. But I had rarely seen him imbibe anything before and always suspected he was alcohol intolerant. So, now I had the proof.

'Gay club,' he said announced matter-of-factly as if it was the most normal thing to suppose.

'Did you decide to try everything today?' I was a little worried, but actually more amused than worried.

'Don't be an idiot, John,' he said impatiently, his tongue faltering a bit. 'This was for the case.'

His voice still seemed unstable, but he was regaining his usual self-confidence, verging on self-assurance by the minute. I felt I had missed my chance to see my dear flatmate in his cups. And then I suddenly noticed the marks on his skin. I froze.

'What the hell are these?'

Sherlock touched his neck, flinched slightly and shook his head.

'No idea.'

He opened his notebook and seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. This was obviously meant to indicate he was busy. Some hope.

'I guess I have an idea. They are flipping love bites!'

'Well, quite understandable,' he nodded, his fingers flying over the keyboard just somewhat more slowly than usual.

'Sherlock!'

He waved me away stubbornly, 'John no, I can't be bothered.'

'Sherlock, you will tell me now! Close the blasted thing.'

He cast a puzzled look at me, but obeyed.

'Sherlock, who gave you these things?'

He looked sincerely perplexed.

'I haven't the foggiest. Most probably it was Mark. Or Stan.'

'What?' I blinked to erase some horrible images from my mind. I couldn't decide whether I should punch Sherlock for being such a dumbo or dart to this doggone club immediately to punch everyone there. 'You mean there were two of them?'

'No, just one, but I fail to remember his name. Decided to delete it right after he introduced himself and the ethanol eased the process.'

'And what were you doing with this man?' I felt I didn't have to ask this question in such an accusative tone, but honestly, how was I expected to react?

'I was doing my usual work which this time involved watching the bartender.'

'And Mark or Stan was marking you all over?'

'I needed to eliminate the possibility of being distracted, that's the place where too many people try to chat you up which makes my job more difficult. So I decided one was better than all of them. I figured it would be reasonable to pretend preoccupied with my male partner. When in Rome do as the Romans do,' he pronounced solemnly and wrapped himself in the spread. This gesture was performed with his typical elegance which often caused in me extreme annoyance mixed with some strange tenderness.

I sighed, 'And how did you pick this man?'

'Isn't that obvious? He was standing the closest to the bartender! Use logic, John. It's hard in the beginning, but you may even like it.'

'So, you were making out for the sake of the case?' I still couldn't believe it. Damn it, the man hardly ever touched my hand!

'I wasn't making out,' Sherlock commented with great dignity and affront. 'Luckily my partner was doing the whole business and personally I was working!'

It was funny after all, him huffing, indignant at the idea he could have enjoyed the process. But then I visualised him standing upright pricking up his ears while some drunk moron was grabbing his thin torso... Now this didn't seem funny at all.

'But this man made your whole neck a big bruise!'

'Exaggerating,' Sherlock waved his hand light-heartedly. 'At least this prevented him from talking and I could strain my ears.'

'So, doesn't this bother you? Was it not disgusting?'

'No big deal,' he shrugged his shoulders. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice your body for the experiment, I got used to that.'

'But not these experiments, Sherlock! What if he had wanted more, what would you have done? Sacrifice your body again?'

'Sounds unlikely. Bear in mind, my objective was to be near the counter.'

'Alright, so what was it like in a gay bar?

'Boring and meaningless. Some people kissing, holding hands, cuddling... Rather disgusting.'

I chuckled. 'All men?'

'Obviously. Although I cannot rule out that some were transgender.'

'And were there these special rooms for, well, you know?'

'John, you shouldn't watch porn so often.'

'I don't watch gay porn! - I retorted furiously.

'Maybe you should try if you're so much interested. But to sate your curiosity I promise I'll find out whether they have these rooms when I go there next time.'

'Next time?'

'Which is tomorrow.' He glanced at the clock, 'Today.'

'Are you going to return?'

'The necessity dictates this. I have three different theories concerning the bartender and they all require an additional observation.'

'And if this guy meets you again?'

'I will know what to do.'

'As if you had known it today! Sherlock, in such places social restrictions are lower and you may end up doing what you weren't going to at all. No case is worth it!'

'This case is a good one,' he explained, already not looking at me and clicking at an astounding speed.

I gave a deep sigh. I couldn't believe I was about to say that. 'Sherlock, tomorrow you're not going there alone.'

'Care to keep me company?' he looked bewildered.

'Do I have a choice?'

'Certainly. Tomorrow you are taking your girlfriend to some tedious musical.'

'I didn't tell you.'

'You googled it on your laptop.'

'Well... Seems, seems it can wait.'

I suspected I would regret it, but really what else could I do? Let him go to this hellish place alone and instead of enjoying the performance with Amanda question myself what unhealthy experiments Sherlock was going through for the sake of the case? Not an option.

'Right,' he said. No 'thank you', of course.

'Goodnight,' I muttered, suddenly realising it was half two and I was sleepy. 'Are you going to bed?'

'No,' he said not lifting his eyes off the screen. 'Goodnight, John.'


	2. Chapter 2

~~~2~~~~

The next morning I wasn't working and decided to enjoy this lie-in as long as possible. I thought I'd stay in bed till, say, ten, then give Amanda a buzz... No. I realised I would not be meeting with her, because for some inexplicable reason had promised Sherlock to come with him... there.

I heard those suspicious noises from downstairs. A considerate person could have understood that his flatmate needed some rest and kept from banging about so early. But I knew who I was sharing the flat with, so I could hardly be surprised. Sherlock was in the kitchen and had occupied the whole of the table with some chemicals. The smell was decisively disgusting.

'Good morning,' I said yawning.

He didn't turn his head.

'Don't touch these, John. I'd recommend having tea elsewhere.' I took another sniff and decided that was reasonable advice.

'Hope Amanda won't know where I'm going.'

'So, her name's Amanda. Explains why she didn't like me calling her Alison.'

'Alison was eight months ago, Sherlock! I told you a million times.'

'Efforts spent in vain. I delete this information on a regular basis. I decided they are all Alisons to me.'

'Like all French kings were named Louis?'

'Precisely. You just have to remember the number. I seriously advise you to do the same.'

'But they won't like it, Sherlock,' I gave a short laugh.

'The French found the answer to this as well. The most troublesome could be beheaded.' He put on his thinking cap while I was filling the kettle.

'Alternatively, you could only date Alisons or make them change their first names after you start your hopeless relations.' And he looked as if it was the most natural thing in the world to suggest.

'Well, maybe I will find that special one some day.'

'We cannot exclude such a possibility,' agreed Sherlock, his voice full of deepest doubts. 'But for Heaven's sake make sure her name's Alison.'

'I hope you'll manage to remember my future wife's name.'

'Highly improbable,' Sherlock shook his head.

'I sometimes wonder how you managed to remember mine,' I smiled.

'Well, you're one of a kind in many ways,' and after a pause he added, 'I'd never confuse you with anyone else, Simon.'

I rolled my eyes and left the kitchen.

'John, anyway you shouldn't bother,' he shouted a couple of minutes later.

'About what?' I asked, still a bit peeved.

'You were worried that she may know where we were going. I took this burden off your shoulders. She already does.'

'What do you mean?'

'You left your mobile on the sofa. In the morning she started ringing, which I found annoying. So I picked up your phone and informed her on your behalf we were both heading for the gay club tonight and her date was cancelled.'

'Are you barking mad? What on earth made you say that?'

'Because this is true, or have you changed your plans?' he asked innocently.

'I might want to change them right now... How is it even possible to say this crap without thinking of the final outcome?'

'Very easy, you just ignore what she may think in general. Saves time and no double entendre,' Sherlock sounded patronising.

'Yes, right. No traces of double entendre now,' I said sarcastically.

'So are we fine? Or you could call her back and explain we are going there for the purpose of the investigation. Well, at least I am. And you simply decided to keep me company so that I wouldn't have to pretend involved in their regular activities with other customers, because you dislike this idea.'

I was just about to answer back when something obviously went wrong as a plume of thick blue smoke appeared from one of the beakers.

'Stop distracting me, John,' he ordered and shut the door in my face.

I tried to call Amanda, but to no avail, which was not surprising, given the circumstances. I made some tea, drifted in front of the TV and decided not to give thought to Sherlock's morning activities.

The place looked ordinary but for the sad fact there were no girls to be seen. I gave the whole club the once-over and had to agree it was decisively boring. Some couples just chatting, some single guys, no one looking too lecherous.

'What do we do?' I enquired, already regretting not having gone with Amanda.

'Pretend talking and wait till something interesting makes its appearance.'

'Well... What is this case about?'

'The bartender.'

'Perhaps you could be more specific.'

'No,' Sherlock looked annoyed.

'Okay, so are you helping Lestrade?'

'Someone has to do the work.'

'Right. You know, one of my yesterday's patients was a real weirdo.'

'Unbelievable.'

'Care to know the details?'

'Absolutely not.'

We were both silent for a while.

'Hope Amanda will forgive me.'

'Very likely. You seem to be her last resort to get over the tale of woe with her ex.'

'How do you know?'

He didn't reply as if the answer was obvious, but glanced at me in a codenscending manner.

'Good. So, we're supposed to be talking, aren't we?'

'Yes.'

'Sherlock!'

'What?'

'You're not playing along. You won't tell me about the case, you refuse to discuss my routine.'

'It's hardly my fault it is not interesting enough to discuss.'

'All right,' I gave a long sigh. 'Then what would you like me to chat about?'

'Nothing.'

'But you wanted me to help you.'

'Incorrect. You opted for going to a gay club with me rather than meeting with Alison.'

'You just like to piss me off, repeating it over and over again, don't you?'

'Not at all,' and for a second there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

At that moment a portly young man approached us and his face brightened up as he saw Sherlock.

'Ah, there you are, mate!' he said and gave Sherlock a hug to great visible disgust of the latter.

The man had had a few beers and was beaming with outspokenness.

'I hoped you'd pop up today,' he said breathing heavily. I decided it was high time I stepped in. That was the point of my being there, right?

'Sherlock, will you introduce us?' I asked calmly.

'This is John,' Sherlock said quickly. The guy didn't pay much attention to that.

'I'm Matt,' he announced smirking and looked at Sherlock's neck like a hungry vampire. 'I'm sorry for those, man,' he continued, no trace of apology in his tone. He put his hand on Sherlock's forearm. His fingers looked like huge sausages, totally revolting. I didn't like that in the least and intervened.

'Can't you see he's not interested in whatever you're offering?'

Sherlock remained silent, which was rather irksome. Was he going to help me at all?

'Well, yesterday he did have some interest, didn't you?' and Matt winked to Sherlock in a nasty way.

This had gone too far.

'Look, he's with me. Keep your damned hands off my boyfriend,' I said resolutely and decided never to mention this whole scene in my blog.

'Pah!' said Matt. He measured me with his eyes and clearly was about to make some comment, but Sherlock slowly lifted his eyes off the phone and confirmed reluctantly, 'I am with him tonight,' then he dropped his gaze again.

'Hope to see you soon on your own,' Matt simpered. Then he did this world a favour and mingled with the crowd.

'That was quite helpful,' Sherlock sighed with relief, his eyes constantly surveying the room.

'Any time,' I smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

~~~ 3 ~~~~

By and by, the atmosphere became tense. The number of people tripled, and many were not trying to disguise their intentions, leering in all directions. Luckily, we were seen like a couple which normally happened, and no one approached us. Until Sherlock suddenly leaned forward.

'Get me some brandy and whatever you like for yourself. Meanwhile, watch the guy behind the counter, then share your observations,' he instructed me in an undertone.

Brilliant, now I was going to watch Sherlock have some booze. This definitely sounded dangerous. I was unwilling to leave him alone in this corner, but decided not to announce that so as not to look stupid. What could happen to him, for goodness' sake?

I saw that many men came there in order to get someone for a one-night stand and gave both of us cursory glances. I was relieved to see they had little interest in me, perhaps feeling on some basic level I didn't belong in this place. But what was odd, they seemed very much attracted to Sherlock, however detached he was, barely talking, his gaze glued to the screen. What did these queer people find in him? Queuing at the counter, I looked at him again. Sherlock chose this precise moment to raise his eyes and smiled at me. Well, not actually smiled, but his eyes softened a bit as if saying, 'Imagine what we have come to!' In a second he got back to whatever he was preoccupied with and I looked him up and down. Surely I was no judge of male beauty, but definitely, the other customers had nothing on him. Gosh, he could have practically any person there if he got this strange idea. But he wasn't interested, fortunately. This thought calmed me for some reason. Sherlock was pushing so many boundaries on so many levels and I was accustomed to that, but bringing his gay boyfriends to Baker Street would be just a bit over the top.

I ordered the drinks and looked at the bartender. He appeared a normal person for this job, not too old, not too young, not to gloomy, not to talkative. But Sherlock had asked me to form my opinion, so I lingered a bit longer and took another glance at the man. Well, there was something in him, something disturbing. I turned back to Sherlock and saw he was already sharing the table with a slim blond guy who was talking a blue streak. I hurried back to our table just in time to hear a few phrases.

'This is my Instagram number,' the guy said meaningfully and reached out a scrap of paper. 'You will like it,' he cast a flirtatious look at Sherlock's shoulders.

'Why would I?'

'Here are some pics of the flat I have nearby,' he was whispering just as I came up. 'So cosy'.

'How very interesting. Goodbye,' I interrupted him brusquely, and the guy disappeared.

'Seems I cannot leave you for a second without you getting into trouble.'

'He was no trouble. Unlike the previous one who invited me to dance, rather insistently,' muttered Sherlock, absolutely underwhelmed.

'You're like a magnet to them,' I decided to tease him a bit. 'You should be flattered.'

Sherlock didn't reply darting cursory glances all over the place as if expecting something. I looked at the other people and saw them enjoying some privacy, dancing, smiling and kissing. In fact, we were the most detached couple there which I was quite comfortable with. Sherlock was drinking his brandy and I noticed him attentively examine each person who approached the counter. Then a drop rolled down his chin, and for some reason I found that simple thing absolutely mesmerising which made me unable to take my eyes off his neck. When I caught myself admiring his skin, I realised something had definitely gone wrong. Most likely, the damned environment started to take its toll. I decided not to dwell on it and looked the other way.

Time hung heavy, so I had another two beers, Sherlock was sipping at his first. It seemed to me he was doing it overtly seductively, at least I caught sight of a few lads shoot furtive glances at him.

'Are you behaving like this deliberately?' I hissed, really irritated.

'John, you need to be more specific.'

'The way you're...'

'The way I'm what?' he looked at me inquisitively, licked his lips and I suddenly noticed his eyes were somewhat glazed.

'Never mind.' Perhaps this was unintentional, but hell, decisively sexy.

'Time to rush home,' he declared, all of a sudden jumping to his feet. He made a dash for the door, but the alcohol effected his elegance and made him crash into a tall red-haired guy whose arms were covered in tattoos.

'Hello, beautiful,' he grinned, and stretched his hand to help Sherlock back on his feet. 'Already leaving? Or fancy joining me downstairs?' he winked.

'No!' Sherlock and I said in unison. The ginger guy sighed and followed us with his eyes as we were walking past him. He waved us goodbye and suddenly shouted 'Have fun, boys!' which was too loud for my liking as lots of heads turned in our direction.

We left the club in silence. Sherlock was absolutely smashed. While we were walking he was staggering like a sailor just back from the roaring forties. In the cab it got worse, he stretched himself, smiled at me vaguely and when I was just about to share my ideas of the bartender, he put his head on my shoulder and instantly fell asleep.

'Well, now people definitely will talk,' I thought and chuckled. But something was bothering me. Sherlock must not drink, I should forbid this as his doctor. He was losing his footing, he didn't realise what he was doing, he was, damn it, seeking physical contact. Now he moved a bit which was the closest to snuggling I had ever seen him. And it was a good job it was me who would never take advantage of his inebriation, but what if he wound up in one of the rooms downstairs with someone like that red-haired bastard? I shuddered visualising the scene. The very idea of someone luring Sherlock's semiconscious body into any sort of intimate activity was outrageous. I mean, how dared they?

By the time we got home Sherlock had already come to his senses.

He quickly withdrew himself from my shoulder looking at me suspiciously as if it hadn't been him clinging to me all the way home.

'What happened?' he asked, his forehead wrinkled. I sighed.

'You sort of passed out on the way. Must have been the brandy.'

'Ah, right. Next time simply prop me against the window, will you?'

I decided to spare his blushes and didn't mention it had all been his idea.

'I just didn't want you to bang your head at the turns,' I explained.

'Next time don't bother,' he noticed I couldn't understand that and shrugged, 'you must know I abhor being touched most of the time.'

'Sure, most of the time,' I said poignantly and I looked at his neck still bearing some residual stains, which had become much fainter though. So, he didn't care that some wanker literally marked him as his bloody property, but was repulsed by putting his head on my shoulder. That was some twisted logic. What the hell was he afraid of, was I so hideous or what?

When we entered the flat he seemed almost sober. How he managed to pass from one condition to the other so quickly was beyond me.

'Now, what's your opinion of the bartender?' he enquired already forgetful of what we'd said in the cab. I, in my turn, had completely forgotten my deductions concerning the suspect and decided to improvise.

'Well, he's not gay,' I ventured to make up some details, 'he's got two kids, drives a cheap car, leads a boring unhealthy life and lives rather far from his workplace.'

'Thank you, John,' Sherlock said solemnly and I caught those sparkles in his eyes.

'All wrong?'

'Yes,' he nodded and didn't even care to disguise the satisfaction in his tone.

At this point his phone rang, he mumbled something indecipherable and tore past me towards the door. I couldn't believe he was resting his head on my shoulder not half an hour back.

'Do you want me to go with you?'

'No, John, there's no need,' he uttered. And in a moment he was off.

I stared at the door blankly. I'd never get used to this. My mobile beeped.

'Goodnight. SH'

Or to this, either.


	4. Chapter 4

~~~ 4 ~~~~

The next morning I rang Amanda up. She seemed unwilling to reply and I had to wait for so long that I was about to hang up when she finally decided to answer the call.

'Yes?' she sounded less angry than I had expected, and I didn't know whether that was a bad sign.

'Amanda please, you must let me explain.'

'Sherlock has done it very expressly,' she said rather coldly.

'Well, I swear, it's not what you think,' I desperately wanted to make it all clear.

'Then let me guess,' she answered sardonically, 'it was all for the case.'

'Actually, it was.'

'John, I know you did not go to any gay club yesterday,' she puffed.

'Well, in fact...'

'Just your crazy flatmate has a sick sense of humour.'

Honestly, I couldn't argue with that.

'And he's just jealous,' she continued.

'What? Sherlock?' I smiled at this preposterous idea. 'No, he doesn't care about me that much. Barely notices I exist.'

'Anyway. He won't ruin our relationship, will he?'

'By no means. Why would he wish to do such a thing?'

'Because he's completely manic, John. And I'm not kidding, he belongs in the nuthouse!'

'Amanda, I'm really sorry you see him this way. He's a bit eccentric, but...'

'Honestly, I fear to think what he can do while you're there, all alone with a dangerous mentally unstable person like him! You should think of a safer place to live,' and she paused meaningfully.

This definitely sounded very like an invitation to move in together and I felt pleasurably flattered. But I wasn't going to leave Baker Street, just not now. However thankful I was to Amanda, the idea just felt absurd. We were silent for a while.

'So, are we going anywhere this weekend?'

'For sure. I'm working these two days, but Saturday is completely yours.'

'No gay clubs?'

'No, this is set in ?'

'Agreed,' and she rang off.

I didn't see much of Sherlock during the following two days. Thankfully he spent the nights in the flat, and as for his daytime activities, he rarely enjoyed filling me in on them. He sent me terse texts asking to fetch this or that from the shop on my way back, nothing much, some random stuff. On Friday evening I decided to watch a game on tv and brought home some beer. I was about to offer one to Sherlock, but on second thought decided against this.

'So, tomorrow's the theatre?' he asked without looking at me, totally engrossed in his computer. After two years of such remarks I managed to repress surprised exclamations like 'How the hell did you know?' so I just nodded.

'At seven, and then we'll drop in at some abominably expensive restaurant, so don't wait up for me.'

'I'll be late home as well,' he replied with some reluctance.

Suddenly I became wary.

'A case?'

'The case.'

My suspicion strengthened.

'Sherlock, you're not going there again?'

'Actually, I am. The data aren't enough.'

'But Sherlock, I can't keep you company this time, Amanda!'

'No problem, I wasn't going to invite you.'

'But you can't simply go there on your own.'

'Yes, I can.'

'Sherlock, we both know full well that if you imbibe a smallish dose of alcohol you can hardly stand up!'

'Alcohol has minimal influence on my brain,' he announced resentfully, 'after having to look after your sister with a drinking problem you apparently find it hard to believe that someone can stay sober under all circumstances.'

'You're the most stubborn idiot in the world! How is it even possible to drive me so mad?'

'Just don't worry, John.'

'I will worry all the hell I want! You'll end up in trouble you cannot even fathom with some sod who has no idea who you are! The hell with it, I care for you, Sherlock.'

'I know,' he said, not too much impressed. 'But you needn't be anxious, I promise I won't drink anything if that's what's troubling you.'

'Well, that's a load off my mind. But if you agree to go there another day, so be it, I will keep you company.'

'Thanks, but I'll need to find some things out by myself.'

'What sort of things?'

'This time I'm going to check one of my ideas concerning the bartender. Need to get closer to him.'

'Right,' I gave in. After all, he was an adult and didn't need me tagging along.

The next day I left before Sherlock, so didn't see him go out. I could only hope he would have the sense to behave accordingly and stand by his promise.

Amanda looked smashing in her snazzy white skirt, the theatre had a full house and the beginning of our date appeared definitely promising. She attracted gazes from many other men and I suddenly realised that Amanda and I, we both made quite a good-looking couple.

The performance was about to begin, the lights went down and Amanda put her small hand in mine.

She leant forwards and whispered, 'One of many things I like about you, John, is that you are never jealous. It's killing me when a boyfriend becomes too possessive.'

That seemed to be spoken from personal experience and I smiled at her reassuringly trying to show her I had nothing in common with her importunate ex.

There were no texts from Sherlock, not uncharacteristic at all, but I couldn't help wondering what he was so busy doing. By the end of the play I got a tad nervous and started texting him myself, but was careful enough not to show this to Amanda. All the messages were unanswered.

After the theatre we arrived at a posh restaurant which was going to eat into my savings, but I hoped it would be worth it.

Amanda looked positively impressed.

'Splashing out, John?'

'If you like it here, I'm going to be a bit financially unwise,' I declared.

'You didn't have to take me out to such a place, John. I could just as well watch some crappy film with you in my flat.'

She had never before invited me that late, and it obviously meant something.

'By the way, the one doesn't exclude the other,' she remarked thoughtfully. 'We could still watch something at my place after the restaurant,' and she blushed which I found absolutely endearing.

'You know, John, I'm not angry with you, it was not your fault. We both know whom to blame for that ruined date,' she chuckled, 'I just need to know it won't happen again'.

'Course it will not,' I said with certainty which I didn't really feel.

''How's it going?' I typed for the fourth time and finally received the reply.

'Brilliant.'

'Are you leaving soon?'

'I already have.'

'Good boy.'

'I'm not heading home, John.'

I frowned.

'Might make it to the flat towards morning.'

I looked at the screen in disbelief.

'What? Where are you?'

'On the way to Don's.'

'Sherlock, who the hell is that?'

'The bartender.'

I had to put aside the mobile as Amanda came back from the ladies' room. She was discussing the menu with a waiter, and my head was a mess. What on earth had made him leave the club? Was he accompanying this 'Don' or following him secretly? But his shift couldn't have finished yet. Maybe he was off today? Or perhaps something urgent made him leave? Or someone urgent?

'I'll have these ribs with leeks and potatoes, starving,' Amanda smiled at me and I realised I was expected to order something as well.

I returned her smile half-heartedly and ordered the first thing that caught my eye knowing I'd be unable to digest anything.

Suddenly I had a bright idea, or at least so it seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

~~~ 5 ~~~~

The restaurant we were sitting at was in fact just a few blocks away from the club. I made an excuse for leaving Amanda and asked some waiter as soon as I turned round the corner, 'Is there a back entrance?'

The guy looked at me sombrely, obviously suspecting I was about to slip away without paying and make poor Amanda face the consequences. I quickly put his mind at rest with a few bank notes and was obligingly shown the back door which lead outside. A reasonable voice inside my head was screaming, 'This is sheer madness! She won't forgive you this time.' These were sensible words of wisdom, but I decided to ignore them and ordered the voice to shut up. The fact was, I didn't have the slightest intention of being reasonable.

It seemed to take hours to hail a cab. I dictated the address.

'The gay club, isn't it?' the cabbie asked impassively.

'Sure,' I said and didn't even blush.

It took us a few minutes to get to the place. I understood Amanda might be asking questions, but I'd have plenty of time to explain everything, while this thing just couldn't be delayed.

The bar was the same, the atmosphere was the same, some people were the same. The person behind the counter was different. It was a tall, spotty young guy with a huge nose.

'Where's Don?' I asked pretending normal and fighting with the impulse to give the lad a shake. He looked pensively into an empty glass and went on to polish it.

'Hmm...' and when I was just about to shout at him he sighed deeply.

'Don? He left.'

'Alone?'

'Hmm... Alone? I didn't notice,' the guy answered with a sleepy expression and yawned in my face.

'Hiya!' I heard a cheery voice behind and felt a heavy tap on my shoulder. It was Matt, decently drunk and light-hearted.

'Looking for Sherlock?'

I nodded.

'And he's left with the bartender. Imagine that!' Matt looked at me as if expecting me to jump in excitement after hearing such fantastic news.

'When? Where?' I asked impatiently. But Matt paid little attention and langourously ordered another pint.

'Yay, they left together,' he repeated with a carefree smile. 'Seems one can't keep up with him, eh?'

'Did they quarrel?'

'No way, thick as thieves. If I were you, I'd have started worrying,' he winked at me.

My head was spinning. I remembered my poor deductions: 'Not gay, two kids, a cheap car...' 'All wrong.' Did it mean he was gay? 'I need to get closer to him', what on earth did that imply?

'Did he drink anything?' I asked Matt, trying to sound uninterested.

'Course. Four or five brandies. I was looking at him all the time, but he wouldnt agree to come with me downstairs,' he complained as if expecting me to pity him.

The screen of my mobile was glowing with Amanda's calls. My own messages to Sherlock remained unanswered. Was he sleeping? On whose shoulder this time? I did my best to remember Don's face. A tad tout, receding hair, attentive brown eyes... And gay, brilliant. Wait, Sherlock said 'all wrong', did it mean he lived next door? Only now did I have the bright idea of asking the bartender these questions.

'Where does Don live? His full name? You are not going to withhold any information from the police, are you?'

Maybe I said that a bit too loudly as some guys who had seemed totally absorbed in their dancing and cuddling business hastily fled from the bar. The rumours spread rather quickly and soon I witnessed a few couples escape from downstairs and realised there were quite a few rooms.

'What has he done?' asked the bartender pale as a sheet. 'I barely know him!'

I showed Lestrade's card, carefully covering the photo with my fingertips.

Soon I was given the address and raced towards the door. Oddly enough, Matt hadn't gone anywhere and was keen on keeping me company.

'Really, Sherlock Holmes? That famous detective?' he asked eagerly and gasped. 'I knew he was one of us!'

'He has never been one of you, you blockhead,' I hissed angrily, running along the street. 'It was for the case.'

'I see, I see... I wish he had more cases like this, eh?'

Mentally calling Matt names, I tried to focus on breathing correctly. Every minute counted.

'I kissed his neck,' said Matt, hyperventilating, but still keeping pace. 'You know, he has such a tender neck. Well, of course, you know.'

I redoubled my speed. The damned phone was still ringing.

'Amanda... I'm sorry, can't speak now. Running after Sherlock.'

'What happened? Where are you?'

'He is in need of help. I am sorry for the whole thing, but this is urgent.'

'John, did he ask you to come?'

'Of course not,' I said with irritation.

'Then why in the world do you have to follow him all the blooming time?'

'Because, because... Is that not obvious? He is prone to taking unnecessary risks, that's why!'

'But he managed to survive somehow before you met, didn't he?' her voice sounded weirdly calm. Anyway, I just didn't have the time to talk with her now.

'Well, listen, Amanda. I'm really sorry for spoiling our date, but next time...'

'Just ring me up when it's over, will you? For some reason I still need to know you're in one piece. And John, I really don't think there will be another date.'

She rang off and frankly speaking, no one could blame her for that.

The fact was she simply didn't understand. How could I leave him in this situation? What if something horrible happened to him? However intolerable he was as a flatmate, however often he was driving me round the bend, I just couldn't stand the thought of ever losing him. Why? I had no time to mull it over, still tearing along the street to help Sherlock in whatever he was doing, with Matt panting by my side and still making idiotic comments without cease.

Finally we reached the house. The door was locked, and I was clever enough to ring the bell of the neighbouring flat.

'It's the police. Chasing a criminal. Open the door!' I demanded.

'You aren't dressed like a police officer,' some trembling old voice mumbled.

'Plainclothes!' I screamed desperately, brandishing Lestrade's card.

For a second which seemed an aeon there was no answer. But finally we were granted with a beep and in a heartbeat were on the third floor. There were no sounds from behind the door. I cleared my throat.

'Police! We have you surrounded! Put your heads on your hands!'

'Vice versa,' whispered Matt.

'Open the blasted door!'

'I wonder how, with their hands on their heads?' Matt muttered pensively.

After half a minute or so the door opened and we rushed into the flat. The bartender looked at me quizzically and frowned.

'What's this all about?' he said with an air of innocence.

'Where's Sherlock?'

'In the bedroom,' he shrugged.

I suddenly felt mild dizziness.

At this precise moment the door of the adjacent room opened and Sherlock showed up, sober as a judge.

'What is it, John?' he asked looking at me in utter bewilderment.

He was wearing his grey shirt, so tight-fitting it was barely decent. I looked into his eyes and suddenly it came over me.

I loved this man. No matter what I said, no matter whom I dated I had loved him for some time already. I wasn't even shocked when I realised this. As if it was finally allowed to mention the damned elephant in the room. I looked into his eyes and felt a lump in my throat.

'Are you sure you're a police officer?' asked Don and narrowed his eyes. 'I've done nothing wrong. It concerns nobody what two men are doing in the privacy of their own home.'

'And what about the heroin?' Sherlock enquired. 'I found some stuff under the bed where you put me being sure I was unconscious.'

Don sized up the situation instantly, jumped between me and Matt, pushing us both aside simultaneously, and made off at an incredible speed. We rushed after him, all three, and all failed. It was amazing for someone so fat and short-legged to reach that velocity.

'Seems he's gone,' Matt said, his face beaming with pride after having such a lot of adventures.

'Obviously,' agreed Sherlock and looked at me with the deepest disapprobation.

'Well, can I go now?' Matt asked, a touch nervous.

'Course.'

'Alright,' Matt sighed. 'Um, yes, and sorry for those marks. Hope to see you in the club some day.'

'I don't think so,' Sherlock muttered and went along the street rather fast. I walked beside him waiting for him to speak, and I didn't have to wait long.

Hardly had we turned round the corner, Sherlock stopped abruptly and gave me an exasperated look.

'Care to explain why you spoilt this case?'

'I worried about you,' I said angrily, 'Why did you ever have to leave the club? Why did you risk coming here alone? Did you find it so hard to give me a call?'

'What if I needed to do that alone?'

'To do what exactly? Let this damned drug dealer shag you senseless for the sake of deduction? Do you really think I could enjoy the blasted pork ribs with Amanda?'

'Of course, I wasn't going to let him do this,' Sherlock said looking at me intently and talking slowly which people usually do with very retarded children.

'But you had five brandies!'

'John, I used a special antidote. My intention wasn't to get drunk, but to give this impression. Besides, I had promised you.'

'Pah!' As if promises made to me ever mattered.

'I was going to purchase some drugs and find out more about the criminal connections of this guy that lie far beyond keeping illegal stuff under his bed. He belongs to a powerful syndicate, which lesser minds of the Yard won't believe,' he gave a wry smile, 'some of the customers at the bar were in fact passing the information to him.'

'So, have I ruined the case?' I asked dully. Fantastic. I'd made a complete fool of myself, and Amanda would get furious.

'John,' Sherlock said solemnly, 'I appreciate the fact that you abandoned your all-important date and dashed through the streets of London in order to stand for my honour in the gay club,' he sounded serious, but his eyes were smiling.

'Now the whole situation seems even more moronic,' I sighed.

'You must be starving. Angelo's?'

'Appears reasonable.'

In the cab I gave Amanda a quick call and informed her of the case, without mentioning my true motives, of course. Which had become quite evident to me by that point. I remembered our previous cab ride home, Sherlock's head on my shoulder, a stray lock on his forehead, and felt such tenderness I had never experienced before. How had I been so blind? I would tell him now, I decided. At Angelo's.


	6. Chapter 6

~~~ 6 ~~~~

'Hello boys!' the host exclaimed and showed us to the table by the window. The candles were provided, and for the first time I raised no objection. Let it be. Me, straight as an arrow, had fallen for this man, and I would never regret one minute. For a second I wondered what a gay relationship would look like. I hadn't questioned my sexual orientation before, I had never actually given a thought... And now the dam had burst and I suddenly became aware I wanted to try everything. With Sherlock, just him alone. How would he react? For some inexplicable reason I couldn't even think of any failure, any negative outcome. He would understand and hopefully reciprocate, and just the thought of what this reciprocation might look like I blushed. To my great dismay, I noticed that my fingers were shaking. Besides, I had no idea how to phrase it. Surely, I had had such conversations before but none of them suggested itself. This time it was a game changer of our whole lives. Now it was radically different to all words of love I had said before. It was a man; it was Sherlock and, most importantly, this time I knew I meant it. For the first time I was dead certain I'd found what I'd been looking for, perhaps all my life. I couldn't cock it up. And he was totally unprepared, not expecting anything but a banter. Start with a long preamble? I knew I'd mix up my words and he wouldn't make head or tail of my speech. Spit it out? This might simply shock him. I fidgeted and felt I was blushing.

I cleared my throat while Sherlock was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

'John,' he said gently, 'Apparently, there's something you want to tell me.'

I held my breath. I'd always been an open book and hardly needed to be surprised. On the other hand, Sherlock wasn't well versed in this business, it might just scare him off. I looked at him, his all too tight grey shirt, his long neck, his Cupid's bow, his amazing eyes and regained my composure.

'Well, actually, yes. Sherlock, I...'

'Shsh. No need to do that, John. These words are unnecessary.'

'But you don't even know what I'm going to say!'

'In most situatios I do. In this case you're obviously about to say something we will both regret. John, don't,' he repeated pressingly.

'Then tell me what I was about to...'

'That an hour ago you suddenly came to the conclusion that you love me,' he looked at me with a strange unreadable expression, which appeared a mix of bewilderment and pity. I had once seen this expression in his eyes when he was examining a young girl, one of the notorious serial killer's victims, lying prone in the backyard of her house. What crap, why had this sprung to mind? I shuddered. Anyway, after he pronounced that I felt relieved.

'Yes, Sherlock, I do love you, and only today I realised how long.'

'About three months,' he remarked and gave a sigh.

'You knew that? Am I so easy to decipher?'

He nodded looking at me carefully. I hadn't thought the declaration would go this way. Well, there had been little time to think it through, but definitely I hadn't expected such a reaction.

'And you?' I asked with bated breath. 'Do you have any feelings for me?'

He looked at me, knit his brows, as if thinking of the way to put it mildly. My heart was pounding in my ears. I realised something was very wrong, in fact, by this moment I was hoping to grab his hands. But now it became clear this was not going to happen. He evidently felt uncomfortable.

'No, John. I do not return your tender feelings,' he said firmly. He was silent for a couple of seconds and added decisively, 'not in the least.'

I forgot how to breathe. The time suddenly became some sort of thick liquid in which I was drowning. Sherlock glanced at the clock rather impatiently as it seemed. Blood rushed to my face.

'You knew...' all the stress from the last hours now amassed and found a vent. 'You knew and didn't do anything about it!'

'Listen, John. This is not my area. I thought I repeated often enough I'm not interested in emotional liaisons or carnal activities. You could have figured out that personally, I don't believe in what people call love. I saw you were not aware of these uncalled-for emotions until today, so what was I supposed to do? Just hoped you would become a tad wiser,' he shrugged his shoulders.

'You did it on purpose!' I said and instantly understood how incredibly stupid that sounded.

'Look, John. I can see you're slightly distraught and these emotions like all the rest that people have are not helping. But in the name of our friendship remember have I ever dropped any hints? Did I touch you? Did I invite you to that gay club?'

'No.'

I felt humiliated. Yes, Sherlock was dead right. He had never tried to get me interested in him, he found revolting having slept on my shoulder, he had set the boundaries, and it was me who trespassed them. I attempted to collect myself; my vision was blurred.

'So, this is the end? It is over?'

'Most likely, John. Knowing your nature I find it highly improbable you will see me the same way, which will make sharing the flat simply unreasonable.'

'You are afraid that if you get stoned again, I will use it against you? You're implying I am that low?'

'I'm not implying it. But you'll have some hard times, John.'

'I'm used to that.'

'No, John. We need to close the book, I'm afraid.'

I looked at him in disbelief.

'Do you want me to move out?'

'Precisely. This is why I said we would both regret your words,' and all of a sound he exploded, 'blimey, John, why ever did you have to bring up this pointless ridiculous illogical idea?!'

I was lost for words. Sherlock, in contrast to me, got quite calm and business-like.

'At any rate, it's no good talking about that now. What's done is done. From what I gather Alison is in favour of the idea of taking your relationship to the next level. Perhaps, it's a happy coincidence, you have a place to go.'

'How very supportive of you,' I said and meant it to sting. 'And her name is Amanda.'

He started drumming on the table with his fingers as if the conversation was getting a bit tedious.

'Are you going to find another flatmate?' I asked trying not to think what a pitiful wimp I must seem.

'Possibly,' said Sherlock. His countenance warmed a bit. 'These have been two good years, John... But we must go our separate ways now. You will evidently need some time to simmer down, whatever... I guess you will appreciate it if we don't meet too often while you're arranging everything.'

The host was stealing quizzical glances at us and I realized my face was a mess. We left Angelo's; Sherlock lingered, looking at me one more time, probably thinking if he was supposed to hug me, but quickly decided against this.

'Wait, you mean you will simply... delete me?' I asked slowly, still unable to comprehend what had just happened.

'Goodbye John,' Sherlock promptly said. He hailed a cab and in a few moments he was gone, leaving me on the pavement.


End file.
